


Cheeseburger First

by amonitrate



Category: Iron Man (2008)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-13
Updated: 2009-11-13
Packaged: 2017-10-02 15:06:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amonitrate/pseuds/amonitrate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three months. No cheeseburgers in sight. Happy drives Tony home, with detours.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cheeseburger First

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://oddmonster.livejournal.com/profile)[**oddmonster**](http://oddmonster.livejournal.com/) and [](http://besyd.livejournal.com/profile)[**besyd**](http://besyd.livejournal.com/) for beta work and [](http://dafnap.livejournal.com/profile)[**dafnap**](http://dafnap.livejournal.com/) for handholding through various iterations and to the hivemind for cheerleading early versions of the beginning and convincing me there was a story in there.

According to the Bentley's GPS there were five Burger Kings between Edwards Air Force Base and the Stark Industries campus. Four McDonald's. Two Fatburger joints. To put it bluntly, more options than Happy had expected.

"You got a preference, boss?" he asked as he guided the Bentley past the main gate, waving at the guard.

The glare winked off the hood of the car, piercing Happy's shades, a spotlight in his head when he closed his eyes. They'd only been on the tarmac for half an hour, waiting for the transport plane from Germany, but the cab had already heated up to stuffy. His collar itched from standing in his dark suit in the flash-bright sun that washed everything out like an overexposed photograph, watching Pepper's stiff back, the way her heels had pressed together in a precise line.

The air purred to life with a flip of a dial and flooded the car with cool relief.

Tony rolled his head back against the leather seat, his eyes closed. "Preference?"

"Your cheeseburger." Happy rattled off the names of the three franchises and saw Pepper glance up from her Blackberry.

A line crinkled between Tony's brows. He slid his hand underneath the cloth of his jacket to adjust the sling and massaged his shoulder. Pepper did that thing where she frowned without changing expression and when Tony didn't answer, she leaned forward, catching Happy's eye. "It doesn't matter, Happy. Whatever's convenient."

Tony didn't object, didn't seem to be paying any attention, so Happy pulled into the first drive-through he came across, a few miles outside of Edwards. BK it was.

While they waited in the line of cars, Happy snatched glances in the rear-view mirror. Pepper was on her third call, working out the details for the press conference that Tony hadn't explained and insisted couldn't wait. She'd turned bodily towards their boss, her entire focus on him as she brought Obadiah Stane up to speed, brushing invisible dust from the hem of her jacket while she spoke, all cool efficiency despite her still-pink nose.

"I don't know what it's about, but it's what he wants." Her eyes drifted over Tony. "Yes, I know. Yes. We'll be there soon. I've got PR on it, we've had a statement ready since... Yes, of course."

Tony was oblivious, absorbed by whatever was going on outside the car. Wondering what was so fascinating, Happy followed his gaze. Tony had never been particularly interested in people-watching unless the people in question were shapely specimens of the female persuasion, but now he was watching the customers eating behind the restaurant's floor-to-ceiling glass windows: a young Hispanic family with twin boys and a squirming pink baby; a raucous gang of teenagers tossing fries back and forth across their table, jostling each other in a booth like corralled puppies; a middle-aged couple who didn't look at one another, didn't talk, just ate their burgers in silence.

When they were second in line, Happy swiveled in his seat. Considered making a joke about first meals and swallowed it down at the unfocused stare Tony turned on him.  "So, what do you want me to order?" he asked.

Tony blinked. Squinted past him out at the menu board for a long moment and then waved his hand dismissively. "Couple of burgers. Cheeseburgers." He faced Pepper, who straightened, her phone still in her hand. "You want anything?" he asked her.

Attention divided between Happy, their boss, and her preparations, she was too distracted to hide her surprise. "No, thank you."

"Hogan?"

Happy shook his head. "Just burgers? You want a soda?"

"Three burgers. No drink. Wait -- make it four." He smirked at Pepper's arched brow.

"Four?" she tossed back. "Didn't they feed you in Germany?"

The smirk didn't fade, but something behind it went careful. Forced. And Pepper turned away first, tucking her chin, poking at her Blackberry. Happy tapped the wheel and pulled the car up to the speaker, then rolled down his window to put in the order.

The girl behind the register didn't blink at the Bentley. This was Southern California, after all, and they were only a few miles from Hollywood, and Burger King didn't pay her enough to inspire curiosity about the customers. Happy remembered that feeling; so after he paid with a twenty and told her to keep the change and she only stared at him as if the phrase didn't quite compute, he just pulled the Bentley ahead before she could protest or try to give it back. By the time the car reached the second window, Tony was leaning forward, his attention locked on the tall, pimply attendant with the paper bag in his hands.

"Hey," Tony called. "Those my burgers?"  He was practically crawling into the space between the front seats, his left hand reaching over Happy's shoulder, curling his fingers in a gimme gesture. It was awkward, what with his right arm in a sling, so Happy scooted towards the door a little to give him room.

"Tony--" Pepper met Happy's eyes in the driver's side mirror and sat back again, let whatever she'd meant to say trail off.

The kid behind the window glanced uneasily between Happy and what he could see of Tony and Happy gave him what he hoped was a reassuring grin. "He's been out of the country awhile," he explained when the kid hesitated.

"Uh-huh, whatever," Tony said. "Hand 'em over."

Once he got a grip on the bag Tony retreated back to his side of the car. Happy started them towards the highway to the rustle of paper and the crinkle of wrapper. The next time his attention strayed up to the mirror, not three minutes later, the last bite of the first burger was disappearing, and he caught Pepper in an appalled stare.

"You know, they make more where that came from, sir."

"Three months," Tony said, the first word garbled a little as he swallowed. "No cheeseburgers in sight." He pulled a second burger out of the bag and spent some time on the unwrapping, like a kid savoring his last birthday present.

Pepper's eyes met Happy's again, and he could tell she wanted to ask the same questions that wouldn't leave him alone: What had they fed him in Afghanistan? What had happened there?

"Why cheeseburgers?" he ventured instead.

Tony tore himself away from the half-unwrapped burger long enough to send an incredulous frown his way. "If you have to ask..." The teasing undercurrent petered out into silence. He finished denuding the burger and then sat studying it as if memorizing the contour of bun and meat. Lifted away the top bun, plucked off the pickle and popped it into his mouth, then reassembled the burger and started in on it, taking his time. Chewing each bite, the act of eating taking every scrap of his attention.

Pepper gave Happy a nearly imperceptible shake of her head, and he turned back to the road.

  
"Where to, boss?" Happy asked, pushing off of the hood of the Bentley.

The press conference was over. Happy and his staff had hustled Tony past the onslaught of camera flashes and the mob of reporters yelling his name, but instead of heading to Malibu once in the safety of the Bentley, Tony had asked Happy to take him to the factory building that housed the arc reactor. While he was inside, Happy pulled out his pack of Marlboros, grateful for the break. Then Stane had shown up on his incongruous Segway not twenty minutes later and  herded Tony back out to the car, wrapping up what sounded like a pep talk, hand on the scruff of Tony's neck as if he was an overgrown puppy.

After promising he'd stop by the house when he got back from his board meeting in New York, Stane had taken off again, leaving Tony standing outside the building that housed the arc reactor with his hands in his pockets and a closed, considering look on his face.

"Hmm?" Gazing out over the factory campus, Tony fiddled with the buttons of his shirt. Popped the top one out of the buttonhole, then refastened it one-handed. The sling, his tie, and his jacket were wadded up in his other hand.

"Pepper called while you were inside. Told me to ask if you wanted her to go back with you."

"Back?" It was more an echo than a question.

Happy shifted. Tony's attention was fixed on a distant point, like he was seeing some other place than the parking lot and the boxy buildings. "Home, sir," Happy said.

"Yeah," Tony said, but Happy wasn't sure it was an answer. Then his eyes snapped back to Happy's face and he frowned. "What? No. Tell her to take the rest of the night off."

Normally Tony would have called her himself, so it took Happy a moment to realize his boss didn't have a cell phone. He didn't have anything on him but the clothes Pepper had sent to Germany. Happy nodded and held open the door, but Tony just ignored him and climbed into the passenger seat.

  
"You hungry?"

It had only been three hours since Tony had downed four cheeseburgers in the space of twenty minutes, so the question was a little unexpected. Since leaving the Stark Industries campus he  hadn't said more than three words -- instead he'd fiddled with the radio, scanning through the dial a couple of times before settling on the traffic report on KFWB News 980 ("All News. All the Time."). Happy tapped the wheel of the Bentley and glanced sidelong at his boss. News radio wasn't exactly his usual.

"Hogan? Come on, you didn't want any burgers earlier. It's dinner time. You've gotta be starving."

"Yeah, I guess," Happy said. "Where do you want to go?"

They were stuck in the inevitable rush hour standstill on the 405. Happy sorted through a mental list of Tony's usual haunts -- Beso, with its delicate chandeliers and dark wood; maybe the Crown Bar, which might even let Happy through the door -- but it was a bit early and they were stuck outside San Fernando. As he waited for an answer the traffic report ended and the news anchor came back on.

"And KFWB's Maggie McKay is reporting live from outside the Malibu mansion of billionaire weapons manufacturer Tony Stark, whose miraculous homecoming today--"

"Low profile," Tony muttered. "Right." He stabbed at the radio's scan button again until he hit an oldies station. _Fun fun fun 'til daddy takes the T-Bird awaaaay._ Then he popped the glove compartment and fished around, pulling out a scuffed pair of aviator shades that Happy kept for emergencies.

"You mind?" he asked, waving the sunglasses.

Happy shook his head. "Boss?"

"Yeah?" Tony slipped on the sunglasses and slouched down into his seat, staring out his window at the well-preserved Cadillac stopped next to them.

"Where'd you want to eat?"

"Oh, right, food." Tony tilted his head, still watching the Caddy. A grizzled German Shepherd poked its head out of the rolled-down back window and grinned at them, black nose shiny in the orange glow of the late afternoon sun.  "Wherever."

Happy watched Tony watch the dog. Made a note to check in with the extra security he'd assigned to the house, make sure nobody curious got through the perimeter. "You sure?" he asked.

"Yeah. You pick." Tony turned the mirror shades on him. "Wait -- no Mexican."

Happy raised a brow and Tony shrugged. "Let's avoid the rice-heavy cuisines in general," he said, as if that explained anything.

Maybe it did.

  
Happy took the first exit he came to once traffic started moving again and headed for Mission Hills. Drove past the San Fernando Mission Cemetery and settled for the Bear Pit.

"Bar-B-Q Missouri style," Tony read, staring through the windshield at the huge, unlit neon sign as Happy pulled into the driveway. "It comes in _styles_?"

The Bear Pit squatted behind a small, brick-fenced patio, and besides the brown sign out front its most prominent feature from the road was the network of big aluminum ventilation ducts that perched on the roof. The lot behind the building was only half full with the first wave of the dinner crowd, so parking was still easy pickings. Tony was out of the car and heading towards the front door before Happy had pulled the key out of the ignition. By the time he caught up his boss was standing transfixed under the not-quite-rectangular sign.

Above the entrance way another neon sign read "the _Bear _pit," as if to emphasize one last time what you were about to get yourself into.

"This place has been around since this was all farmland," Happy said. "My dad used to take me and my brother here."

Tony turned, scanned the street behind Happy's back. "You have a brother?"

"Yep. He's a couple of years younger than me. Pepper's age, I guess."

"Huh," Tony said.

When he didn't pursue it further, Happy pulled open the restaurant door. Tony just stood with his hands on his hips, watching the cars drift by on Sepulveda Boulevard. Happy waited, but he  seemed to have forgotten what they were doing there.

"Boss? You want to get some food?" Happy said, finally.

"Bar-B-Q, Missouri style," Tony repeated, and followed Happy through the door.

  
The Bear Pit was not listed in the Michelin Guide. If any of their fellow diners -- all three tables of them -- recognized the infamous Tony Stark, they gave no sign, but Happy kept his eye on them anyway. Tony slid into the booth across from him and toyed with the white laminated place mat their waitress had plunked down in front of him. Then he unrolled the paper napkin from around his set of silverware and flicked at the knife until it spun in circles on the tabletop.

"Dern tootin' we cook with wood." Tony recited the placemat's cheery slogan in a terrible Western accent that sounded like Yosemite Sam's younger, slightly brain damaged cousin. He may have lived on the west coast for most of his adult life, but he'd never quite lost the rhythms of a Yankee. Not that he'd ever tried.

The place hadn't changed much in the last ten years. Sawdust still littered the floor and a fat cartoon bear in a chef's hat marched across the wall above their heads, holding aloft a bottle of barbecue sauce. Park-bench style booths sat back-to-back along the wall, and the tables were dressed only with the place mats and the usual plastic squeeze bottles of condiments and containers of sugar packets.

Tony took his time with the menu. "Why would anyone want to eat 'lite' at a place like this?" he muttered. "You wanna eat lite, get yourself some Jenny Craig."

When the waitress came back Happy ordered the Super Bear sandwich with cole slaw and fries. Tony folded his menu, set it down, and rattled off enough food to choke a horse.

"Start me off with the chili poppers and an order of hot wings. Then I want the pork barbecue dinner, the spare rib dinner, and a side of--"

The waitress -- her tag read _Sally_, and she sure looked like a Sally, like the girl-next-door gone grey -- didn't miss a beat. "I see you mean business. So I got a recommendation for you, honey."

Tony looked up, grinning. "Yeah?"

"You want a little of everything? You should get the Taster's Treat special."

"And what do I get with that?"

"Well. You get one beef rib, two pieces of chicken, two spareribs, some beef BBQ, some pork BBQ, coleslaw, beans, taters and garlic toast. Sound good?" Bee-Bee-Q, not barbecue, Happy noted. He quirked a brow at the idiosyncrasy and Sally gave him a wink.

"That's more like it," Tony agreed. "Hold the beans, add the wings and the poppers and a chili dog and it sounds like heaven."

The waitress grinned back at him and didn't write anything down. "You want anything to drink with that?"

He did. Turned out he wanted iced tea and a chocolate malt.

"You sure that sandwich is gonna be enough for you, Hogan?" he asked after the waitress had sauntered away. "'Cause I'm not sharing. Unless you ask nicely, then maybe I'll let you have some wings."

"Pretty sure I'm set," Happy said.

True to his word, Tony shared the wings. He was insistent, so Happy took a couple -- as good as he remembered, tangy and sticky and messy as all hell -- but mostly he just sipped his lemonade and watched Tony go. Watched him devour a big plate of deep-fried, cheese-stuffed chili peppers, licking his fingers when he was done.

The shirt Pepper had picked out for him had lost most of its crispness, done in by twelve hours in an Air Force transport and another five or so afterward while he tossed the press and his own company into pandemonium. Up close the mossy color only played up the sallow cast to his skin. There was a healing scab near his right temple, his left eye socket was ringed with bruises and brown scrapes, and the pounds he'd dropped during his captivity -- at least twenty, by Happy's eye -- gave him the look of a boxer trying to meet a weight category too light for his frame.

Happy thought about warning him against eating so much at once if he'd been on a restricted diet, but he didn't have the heart. Downing the burgers earlier hadn't seemed to have any effect. It was probably too late, anyway.

Tony had just picked the last hot wing clean and tossed the bone away when the waitress brought out their dinners.

"No beans," Sally said, setting a big platter down in front of Tony and adding another couple of small plates after that, "and a chili dog on the side."

"Yeah, thanks," Tony said, eying his plate.

He rolled up his sleeves, revealing corded forearms speckled with healing pink burns the size of peas. Happy watched the waitress's attention move from the burns to the marks on Tony's face, then on to the wide, purpling bruise that circled his right wrist, and over the custom tailored shirt. She cocked her head.

"You sure that's enough food?" Her tone had shifted, just slightly, lost some of the breezy no-nonsense.

"Nope," he replied, already pulling apart the spare ribs, "but I'll let you know when I'm ready for more."

Sally met Happy's eye and nodded, then left them alone. Happy watched her retreat back to the kitchen. Waited, but nothing happened, so he turned back to his own plate.

  
"What's your brother's name?"

The question came out of nowhere. Happy sat back from the table, wiping sticky hands on his big paper napkin. "Lawrence," he said.

"Larry and Harry?" Tony chased barbecued pork around his plate with a wad of garlic bread. "What, did your parents work for Disney?"

"Nah." Nobody called him Harry anymore. Hadn't for years. But Larry and Happy wasn't much better on the cartoon-character front than Larry and Harry. He shook his head. "Mom died when I was little. Dad worked for Dole."

"Bob Dole?"

Happy stared at him -- he was serious. Tony Stark had never had the hands of a man who spent time in the back of a limo, but now they looked like Happy's father's hands. Factory worker's hands. His knuckles were swollen and red, his fingers gnarled and scarred like he'd been doing heavy manual labor. It made it easy to forget he'd been raised by nannies, that _his _father had worked on the Manhattan Project before Obadiah Stane made him a rich man.

"Dole, as in fruit. The cannery."

"Right," Tony said, shoveling the bread into his mouth. He clearly had no idea what Happy was talking about.

"Bob Dole's from Kansas," Happy added.

"Um-hmm."

"He's retired now. Plays a lot of golf."

Tony swallowed. "Bob Dole? I think Obie used to kick his ass on the green every third Friday." And then he grinned again, showing teeth for the first time since Happy had met him at Edwards.

  
Tony polished off his Taster's Treat platter before he turned to the chili dog. In between, he took a sip of iced tea and made a face. Set the glass aside.

"Something wrong with it?" Happy asked.

Tony shrugged. "Tastes like watery tea."

Happy was ready with a _well what did you think it was gonna taste like_, but something in Tony's expression had gone pinched, so he popped another fry in his mouth and kept quiet. After that, Tony stuck to water.

He gave up half way through the chili dog and didn't touch the malt. When Sally brought the check on a little black plastic tray, Tony reached for his pocket and came up short. His eyes shifted to the middle distance and a grimace came and went almost too fast for Happy to catch.

"I seem to have misplaced my wallet," Tony said, tapping at the check. Right. They hadn't found it on the jet he'd taken to Afghanistan; it must have been lost in the ambush -- driver's license, credit cards, everything.

"I got it," Happy said. "I'm pretty sure you're good for it."

"At least until the news hits Wall Street," Tony said, with a dismissive wave.

Sally glanced from Tony to Happy and took Happy's card without comment.

"Good to see you made it back safely, Mr. Stark," she said when she returned, low enough that the other diners wouldn't overhear, but Tony was already moving towards the door.

Happy signed the receipt and pressed a twenty into her hand. "Thank you."

  
Tony rode up front again, mirror shades back on, and he'd gained a fidget at some point during dinner. Well, more so than usual, anyway: turning in his seat to watch passing cars, fiddling with every electronic control he could get his hands on, unbuttoning and re-buttoning his collar. He pestered Happy for the latest Hollywood gossip ("Come on, I know you jabber with the other security guys. Security always has the best dirt. Spill.") and they were still a good twenty minutes from the house when he broke into Happy's reluctant retelling of the latest in Security Guy Brangelina Lore.

"Hey Hogan, pull in up here."

Happy slowed as they approached the drive to a resolutely nondescript dive bar ringed with a scattered assortment of vehicles in varying stages of disrepair. The place hunched windowless and low to the ground, a blurry spotlight picking out the name-- Ed's -- on an awning above the door. It looked mostly empty: less chance of blending in than if it had been crowded, but a crowd had its own set of risks. Either way, pulling up in a Bentley was bound to attract attention.

He frowned. "Boss--"

"It'll be fine. Have a beer with me, we'll be in and out."

"Your face was all over CNN a couple of hours ago. Probably still is. You sure you want to--"

"It's just a beer, Hogan. Anyway, you're packing heat, right?"

"Packing heat?" Happy shook his head. "Yeah, I've got my sidearm, but--"

"Come on. What's the worst that could happen?"  
_  
You could get smashed and provoke a fight? _To be fair, Happy hadn't had to pull him out of a brawl for five years. But. "This is a bad idea," he said, even as he pulled into the parking lot.

"Duly noted." Tony tapped his armrest, already scoping out the splintered wood door.

There were more people inside than Happy had guessed from the number of cars in the lot. Must have been some kind of amateur darts competition going on, because most of the action seemed centered on the row of three battered dart boards at the far end of the single room. Happy tried to steer Tony towards the few unoccupied booths, but instead he headed straight for the bar and hopped up onto a cracked red vinyl bar stool.

"Hi," Tony said, his grin bright as a toothpaste ad in the dim light when the bartender turned his way. "I haven't had a drop in three months. What d'you recommend?"

Happy levered himself onto the stool to Tony's left, eying the crowd. A few heads turned, staring with the incurious suspicion of regulars whose turf has been invaded, but Happy didn't see any recognition or outright hostility. Yet.

"Taking a dive off the wagon, are we?" The bartender smirked. She was old enough to have been one of Tony's nannies, with a blond ponytail just going to ash and the kind of tan that came from hard work rather than working the poolside. The hem of her cropped black tee brushed a lotus flower tattoo riding the small of her back when she turned.

"Something like that."

"We got Coors on tap," she offered. Happy decided she looked like a Brenda, but when one of the regulars shouted her name from across the bar, it was Camille.

Tony tilted his head, considering. "What about Corona?"

She nodded. "Even got lime."

"Nice. Hogan? You want a Corona?"

Happy blinked. "Yeah, okay."

"Beer's on him," Tony said, mouth quirking.

Right.

  
They'd collected three empties between them and Happy was nursing his second Corona when he glanced up to catch Tony's face plastered all over every TV in the bar. A shot from the press conference, Tony leaning over the podium as Obadiah tried to hustle him offstage, one big hand gripping Tony's shoulder.

"Hogan. Hey, Hogan."

Happy couldn't quite tear his attention from the TV. He'd known this was a bad idea. "Yeah?"

"Got any smokes?"

Happy half turned away from him, giving the place a quick sweep. The sound was off on the TVs, the jukebox playing an old Kenny Rogers torch song, and so far they'd only generated a few idle glances. Maybe it helped that Tony had lost his tie and suit coat in the Bentley and had long since shoved his rolled shirtsleeves up past his elbows. Maybe nobody cared.

"Come on, I know you do." The fingers of his right hand counted out a steady rhythm on the bar: one two three four, one two three four, one two three four five.

"What? Yeah, sure."  Happy tossed him a pack of Marlboros and Camille-the-bartender slid over a matchbook, right under the No Smoking sign. Happy eyed Camille and she just shrugged.

Tony lit up and choked a little on his first drag.

"Lemme guess," Camille drawled, "haven't smoked in three months either?"

"Haven't done a lot of things for three months," Tony said, and yeah, he was hitting on her.

She wasn't exactly his usual type, but Tony in a mood flirted on reflex. Happy rolled his eyes. He was pretty sure she thought Tony had just gotten out of jail, the way she was looking him over with a kind of knowing amusement. She wasn't exactly wrong. Happy supposed that was better than her matching his face to the news report flashing up above her head. When it moved on to the latest celebrity scandal Happy's shoulders loosened a notch, but the itch on the back of his neck, the one he got anytime Tony strayed too far from the game plan, didn't get any better.

"You gotta be jet lagged," Happy said finally, leaving the pack of cigarettes between them on the bar. He wanted a smoke too, wanted one like anything, but he wanted his hands free more.

Tony shrugged. Took a long pull on his Corona. It was hard to see in the dull light but his eyes were bloodshot as hell, his shirt badly wrinkled. He'd lost some of his usual straight-backed prep school posture, hunched over the shot glass Camille had given him for an ashtray, not so much smoking as watching his cigarette smolder.

He didn't look like the man in the news reports, not at all. Happy supposed that was a plus.

"Larry Hogan. Sounds like a professional wrestler."

Happy blinked, utterly lost. They hadn't talked about his brother for a good two hours, at least.  
"That's Hulk Hogan," he managed.

"Yeah, right. What's he do?"

"Larry?"

"I think we already established the other Hogan's occupation. Unless your brother's in the WWE too?"

"He's a teacher."

"What's he teach?"

"Ceramics."

Tony flicked ash from his cigarette. He actually seemed... interested. In Happy's brother.

"Like, for aeronautics?"

Happy shook his head. "Nope. Like pots." A preemptive defensiveness crept up his spine. He'd stood between Larry and trouble more than a few times when they were kids. Kids didn't get boys who liked to play with clay. "Well, sculpture, actually. He's a professor at an art college in Oregon."

"Huh," Tony said. "He study under Arneson?"

"What?"

"Bob Arneson. Got a couple of his sculptures in storage." Tony leaned one elbow on the bar, his beer forgotten. "Your brother go to UC Davis?"

"Uh, yeah. I think so."

"Yep, Arneson. Next time he has a show, lemme know."

A victory hoot rang out from the crowd clustered around the dart boards. Tony's attention flicked over Happy's shoulder. The _thwack _of darts hitting cork filled the lull between songs until it was drowned out by chugging, racing guitars. _You've been dying since the day you were born_, James Hetfield roared from the jukebox, _you know it's all been planned._ A voice rose over the heavy metal, boozy and belligerent. One of the dart players shoved another, fists swung, and somebody shouted an unintelligible curse.

"Oh boy," Camille growled, "Here we go again." She grabbed a loudspeaker from under the bar. It screeched with feedback. "TAKE IT OUTSIDE OR GO HOME, ASSHOLES."

One of the old timers at the other end of the bar cheered her on, raising his beer glass. Happy watched the fight break up into two shouting tangles, watched it dissolve further into simmering calm.

"Well," he said ruefully, turning back to Tony. "You picked the place."

Tony was staring past him, locked on the men rejoining their dart tournament. His hands were pressed flat on the top of the bar. "Uh-huh," he said.

Happy couldn't hear much over the din, but he could see Tony's chest moving in shallow, controlled breaths under his wrinkled shirt.

The tiny hairs on the back of his neck stood up. "What is it, boss?" he leaned in, spoke low. The bartender had eyes only for the dart tournament.

Tony pulled away. Slid off his stool. "Jet lag," he said. And then he turned around and walked right out of the bar without a backward glance.

Jesus. A half-smoked cigarette was going to ashes on the floor by Happy's stool. He ground it out with one foot. Tossed a wad of cash down on the bar and hurried out the front door.

  
They'd missed the long sunset. It was full dark and Tony didn't have keys to the Bentley, he didn't have keys to anything, so when Happy caught up he was leaning against the driver's side door, hands in his pockets, nearly invisible in the crappy lighting of the parking lot. Happy opened his mouth to ask what the hell had happened in the bar but he didn't get the chance.

"Toss me the keys."

Happy stopped short. "What?"

"I wanna drive. Toss me the keys. You can ride shotgun for awhile."

It wasn't the first time he'd handed over the reins, but Happy hesitated. Goosebumps still prickled his arms.

"Designated driver," he tried.

Tony's jaw worked. He thrust his hand out. "Only had one more than you, and it was pisswater beer, and it's my car. Hand 'em over."

Happy dug the keys out of his pocket and dropped them into his boss's open hand. Tony's fingers closed around the ring and he shot Happy a tight grin. "Relax. Kick back. I'll let you pick the music."

Which turned out to be a lie. Five minutes down the road his hand snaked out and flicked the radio off altogether.

  
Tony hit downtown at full speed, weaving between the laggards only doing ten over the speed limit with the terrifying efficiency Happy had gladly forgotten during his absence: leaving each turn of the wheel to the last possible second, darting in and out of spaces Happy would have judged too small for a moped, coming within a hair's breadth of the bumper of a Beamer only to flick his wrist and send them zipping out of the lane again. The Bentley was not a small car, but under Tony's hands it hugged the road like a custom built racer.

At first Happy figured they was heading for a Hollywood hotspot like Opera or the Hyde Lounge, someplace Tony Stark could be seen, and more importantly, see what flavor of starlet was around for the night; but after an hour threading through the L.A. streets without any sign of a destination, he gave up and sagged in his seat, watching the lights smear and trail through the windshield. It took another twenty minutes for him to realize they weren't just driving aimlessly.

They zipped past the Disney concert hall, the silver facade glittering in the rear view mirror like some kind of futuristic ship. They circled Dodger Stadium. They got caught in traffic on Sunset Boulevard, Tony tapping the wheel between lurches forward, the distant Hollywood sign flicking in and out of view at each cross street. The gilt dragons of Mann's Chinese Theater loomed and then vanished, then the Whisky a Go Go faded into the horizon. They doubled back and wound their way through the hills of Mulholland Drive, barely pausing long enough for Happy to take in the winking gold and white of the city spread out below them before plunging back down into Beverly Hills.

Nothing they passed carried any kind of personal significance, as far as Happy remembered. Mostly they were tourist destinations, post card fodder, movie locations. Tony traced L.A.'s landmarks as if recreating some kind of internal map for himself; as if he needed to see them first hand to prove they were still there. At least, that's what it seemed like to Happy. Tony wasn't talking.

By the time the Bentley's clock read eleven he'd apparently satisfied himself that Los Angeles hadn't gone and changed without him around to supervise, and headed out towards the shore. When he finally pulled the Bentley to a stop alongside Topanga Beach, Happy didn't bother mentioning that it had closed at ten, just followed him out of the car and down to the sand.

  
Happy's hip vibrated.

Tony stripped off his shoes and socks and dropped them next to the Bentley's front tire. His toes rooted in the cold sand for a long moment. The car keys jangled in one of his hands, just audible over the surf and the wind.

The phone shook in Happy's fingers as he fished it out of his pocket, glancing down at the display.

"Are you with him? Where is he?" Pepper demanded before he could even get the phone to his ear. Tony wandered off towards the ocean, slowing as he neared the water's edge.

"Hey, Pepper." Happy kicked at a stick half buried in the sand, squinting at Tony's silhouette, black against the night sky. The beach was deserted, the Bentley the only car in sight.

"You left the factory hours ago, and no one's picking up at the house. Jarvis said--"

"We're, um. We haven't made it back yet." A gust tossed Happy's tie up into his face. He batted it down, then yanked it off and stuck it in his jacket pocket.

"Haven't made it back..." Pepper trailed off. "Where _are _you?"

Tony stepped forward, letting the waves swirl around his ankles.

"The beach," Happy said. He could hear the low murmur of voices in the background, a cheery advertising ditty, then a whistling like wind through open windows. "You in the car?"

"Running an errand," Pepper said, clipped and too quick.

At... 11:30? Happy swallowed the impulse to tease. She'd sobbed messily all the way to Edwards that morning, the first time he'd seen more than a crack in the armor of cool professionalism that had carried her through the three months since the first call from Afghanistan. _I shouldn't be crying_, she kept saying._ I don't know why I'm crying, it's such a cliche. I should really stop crying_. Happy, who had never quite figured out what to do with himself when anyone broke into tears around him, could only offer her the package of Kleenex he kept in the glove box.

Now she just sounded wary, and as strung-out tired as Happy felt. "What's he doing at the beach?"

"Well, right now he's ruining a perfectly good pair of pants," Happy said, shaking his head.

Pepper's voice slid a note or two higher, like a string plucked as it was tightened. "He's in the water?"

The object of their conversation turned around suddenly, as if he'd overheard.

"That Pepper?" Tony called. "Tell her not to freak out, I'm not gonna go swimming."

Happy cocked his head at that, returning the phone to his ear. "He says--"

"I heard."

Up to his knees in the surf now, Tony's hands shaped the incoming waves as they passed, his fingers outstretched to trace the edges of the whitecaps.

"Don't let him swim, okay? At least not until we can get him in to see a doctor?"

"Sure," Happy said. As if he'd be able to stop his boss from diving in head first into the ocean, if that's what he was going to do.

"Alright. I... thanks, Happy." The phone went dead in his hand.

  
Tony didn't dive in head first. The waves never reached higher than mid-thigh. He just stood there in the moon-flecked water with his back to Happy for so long Happy started to think maybe he'd fallen asleep. And then he turned around and kicked his way through the surf until he found dry land again.

 

"So what's up with the ban on swimming?" Happy asked, tossing Tony the blanket from the Bentley's trunk, in lieu of a towel. Tony's striped suit pants clung to his legs, the dark cloth streaked with salt and patches of wet sand, and in the trunk light his lips were thin and bluish.

A shrug. "Don't know whether I'm still waterproof." The words jittered a little like he was trying to keep his teeth from chattering together. Happy wasn't cold, but then he wasn't soaked through nearly to his waist, either.

Tony wrapped the blanket around his shoulders, gripping the ends in one hand like a refugee, and tossed Happy the car keys.

Happy slid into the driver's seat, running his hands over the wheel. He knew Tony doted on his cars like other people did their yippie little lapdogs, but after he drove the Bentley she was restless and Happy usually had to settle her with a steady hand and an oil change. He'd turned the key, his head cocked, listening for any sign of strain, when he realized the passenger seat was empty -- Tony was still outside. Happy started to roll down the window when there was a flash, then another.

He was out of the car before he'd fully processed that the beach wasn't so empty anymore.

When he cleared the bumper he found Tony surrounded by a gaggle of kids half his age, the kind of sun-streaked locals who raised themselves on the back of a surfboard. One, a tall skinny blond whose wetsuit hung loose around his waist like he was molting, held a cell phone out at arm's length. He lined up another shot as a girl, wetsuit unzipped to show off a green bikini, leaned in to light the cigarette dangling from Tony's mouth.

"Hey, Hogan," Tony mumbled around the cigarette. "Meet my new friends." The blanket was still draped over his shoulders, but now he stood ramrod straight as if he'd pulled it out of his closet this morning, just another addition to his wardrobe. As soon as cigarette glowed to life, he took a step away from the girl.

"How'd you do it?" A shorter kid with a red crew cut asked.

Tony wasn't really looking at any of them. "Do what?"

"How'd you escape from Al Qaida?"

Happy stopped short. How _had _he escaped? So far, nobody was talking. He hesitated, watched Tony's chin lift, and yeah, he'd seen that look before, in the ring right before his opponent went for his jugular, but never on his boss's face.

"Rigged a bomb," Tony said, staring down his nose at the kid. "After that--" His hand slashed downward, as if cutting himself off.

The kids pressed together, mouths open to bombard him with more questions. The one with the camera adjusted his stance, getting Tony back into range.

"I'm gonna have to ask you to put that away," Happy said. The kid shot him a defiant smirk and the flash went off just as Happy sidestepped between Tony and the camera.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tony use the distraction to edge towards the rear bumper. When the girl tried to follow, Happy backed into her path.

"We know who he is," the kid said, dogged, but he'd lowered the camera. "Everybody knows who he is. Some kind of big _hero_, right? How much you think they'll pay me for these pictures?"

Tony had put the car between himself and the kids. He knocked the ash from his cigarette, his mouth curling.

"That's not gonna happen," Happy said. He planted his hands on his hips, knowing the wind would blow back his jacket enough to give the kids a good long look at his holster.

"What, you gonna take my phone?" The kid waved the camera, uncowed, then made a move to snap a shot of Tony over the roof of the car.

"Pretty much," Happy agreed. He plucked the phone from the kid's hand, the flash lighting up the sand at their feet.

"You can't just fucking steal his phone," the girl snarled, starting towards him.

Happy turned and tossed the thing over the car to Tony, who startled but managed to catch it one handed.

"Here," Happy said, reaching into his jacket pocket. The kids took a collective step back, like he was about to pull his weapon. Behind him, Tony's choking laugh carried over the wind and the waves and the grumbling of the teenage hooligans. "Look, you ring this number tomorrow, and I'll make sure you get your phone back, okay?"

He flicked a business card at the kid whose phone he'd confiscated and spread his hands. "It's late and we're leaving. I don't care what you're up to, as long as you don't get in our way. Alright?"

"Fucker," the girl muttered, but they backed off, scattering towards the water's edge, where they'd left a pile of surf boards.

Happy kneaded the back of his neck, watching them go. When he turned to the car, Tony was propped up against the passenger door with his shoes dangling from one hand, eyes lit by the ember of his cigarette.

"What?" Happy said, exasperation leaking through.

Tony tossed the phone back. "It's not a bad shot, if you're a fan of homeless chic. The latest in cave-dwelling hermit couture."

He heard the door open and shut as he flipped open the phone. Tony, hunched in his blanket with one hand raised in an attempt to block the picture, his face bleached, his eyes wide and blinded by the flash.

"Which, you know. Is kind of strangely appropriate," Tony continued when Happy joined him in the car, pocketing the phone.

"Appropriate?" Happy watched through the windshield as the kids gathered up their boards and disappeared into the darkness.

Beside him, Tony slouched down in his seat, pulling the blanket around his chest. "Put on the heat, will you?"

  
"What'd they want?" Happy asked, once they were back on the road.

He tamped down on his jitters, on the sudden sharp need for a cigarette. They'd managed to make it through two unplanned public stops without anyone making a stir about recognizing Tony Stark, only to get ambushed the moment Happy had let his guard down. Now they were heading back to face the real feeding frenzy, and that wasn't something he was looking forward to one bit.

"Who?"

"The delinquents back there."

Tony shrugged. He leaned forward to stub the cigarette out in the ashtray. "Well, clearly they wanted proof of meeting the Great Tony Stark, but you stomped on that dream." His sudden grin fractured, punch-drunk in the neon glow of the dashboard.

"Al Qaida?" Happy shook his head.

"Kids these days. Can't tell one group of crazy motherfuckers from the next," Tony muttered, fishing Happy's shades from the floor of the cab by his feet. "You got any antacids?"

He didn't, but he stopped in at the next open gas station. Tossed Tony a package of Tums and ignored him while he crunched half the roll.

  
As they passed the green lawns of Pepperdine University, Happy flipped the radio back on. Found the news station again with a sidelong glance at Tony, but Tony only had eyes for the ocean.

"...no sign yet of Tony Stark, who threw his hero's welcome into disarray this afternoon with the shocking announcement that Stark Industries, the billion-dollar company founded by his father Howard in the wake of World War II, would no longer produce weapons. There's speculation that the announcement has gained Stark the ire of the company's board of directors, who were as surprised as anyone..."

"What're you gonna do?" Happy asked, surprising himself.

Tony tensed up, just a little. "Let Obie handle it, I guess." He rubbed the shoulder that had been in the sling and his rueful smile went opaque, pasted on. "I have no idea."

  
The puny cell phone flash was just a prelude to what they found when Happy navigated the narrow street past the line of news vans and they reached the security gate at the foot of Point Dume. The hired help held back the mob as the gate swung open, but the combined light from the flashes and videocamera spotlights was enough to raise a false dawn around the car, bright enough that Happy had to squint. Worse than the light was the noise that wrapped around them on all sides, drowning out the sound of the ocean, the purring of the Bentley's engine, even Happy's own thoughts.

"Tony! Tony! Lookoverhereyeah! MR STARK! TONY! Whaddyou hafta say about the rumor... MRSTARK!"

Happy spared a glance at Tony as they passed through the worst of it, but all he could see was the light bouncing off the borrowed sunglasses. As the Bentley cleared the gate, the security detail tackled one paparazzi brave enough to make an attempt to slip through in their wake, and then the din faded behind them like lightening on the horizon until the car was silent again.

  
The glass-and-concrete flying saucer that had cost more to build than Happy would ever see in his lifetime had been blank and quiescent as they'd approached, but the light over the main door sparked to life as they came to a stop. When Happy shut off the engine and lowered his window it was a relief to hear only the crash of the waves on the rocks below and the ever-present wind.

Tony had ignored the shouting of the press vultures so thoroughly Happy had been convinced he'd nodded off. His long-boned bare feet poked out of the enveloping blanket and his head tilted back against the leather seat, the picture of blithe indifference. But now that it was safe to take a closer look, Happy could see that his earlier tension had surged into something barely contained by a smothering rigidity. Behind Happy's old sunglasses his eyes were tightly shut and his right hand drummed against the armrest in an uneven, staccato rhythm.

"You want company?" Happy asked when Tony didn't move to get out of the car.

Tony tore off the sunglasses and tossed them towards the dashboard, but what started as a casual gesture ended choppy and they bounced off and hit the floor. His words ran together, jumbling up at the end of each sentence. "It's late, right? It must be late. I have no idea what time zone I'm in right now but it's dark, so it must be late."

He didn't budge from the seat, staring at the house as if it was about to open up and swallow him whole. The difference between this man and the one Happy had picked up at Edwards that afternoon, the one who'd savored every bite of his cheap fast-food cheeseburgers, was giving Happy the willies.

"It's a little after midnight," he allowed, careful now. "But we could, I dunno. There's a coupla places open around here on weeknights. We could get some more hot wings. Maybe a nightcap."

"Like I said, late." Tony sat up, the blanket falling away. "Besides, we'd have to run the gauntlet again, and I'm all out of flame throwers, and..." He took a deep breath. Let it out. "Yeah. Let's not do that."

Flame throwers? "So--"

"Go home, Hogan. Pepper'll be here in like, six hours, knowing her, so it's not like--" He broke off. Shoved his feet into his shoes. "Take tomorrow off, you deserve it."

"I've had three months off," Happy said.

That wasn't exactly true.  It had only taken two weeks of showing up for work every morning with nothing to do before Pepper gave in and let him drive her from meeting to meeting. Even then, he'd had a lot of time to kill. Six weeks in, Pepper had tried to convince him to take a vacation, but he'd just looked at her and she'd never brought it up again.

Tony shook his head. "So one more day won't kill you." He swept his jacket from the back seat and was out of the car before Happy could get out another word.

Happy glanced in the rearview mirror at the firefly flickering of the camera flashes just visible at the end of the drive. He could stick around until Pepper arrived. Make sure none of the idiots from TMZ slipped past the perimeter. They'd caught industrious freelancers trying to scale the cliff side over the ocean before, just to get a peep into one of Tony's bedrooms.

When Happy turned back to the house, Tony was still hovering on his own doorstep, staring out at the distant mob thronging his gate. Happy slipped out of the car and leaned his elbows on the roof.

"Hey boss, you sure you're gonna be okay here by yourself?"

Tony's attention flicked back his way and for a second there was something there, something desolate and adrift and not Tony Stark at all. Then his shoulders straightened and he waved Happy off.

"Are you kidding me? I haven't had any time to myself in three months, I'm gonna enjoy it while it lasts. You're off duty, Hogan. Go home and... do whatever it is you do there."

He lingered for a beat longer before swiping his hand over the bioscan lock.  The door swung open and the foyer lit up of its own accord, spilling a bright white glow out over the stoop and the walk from the driveway. Tony turned his head, taking one last look down the drive, and then the door shut behind him.

Happy waited.

Faint light bloomed from farther in the house. He could call Pepper, let her know Tony was safely home; but ten to one she'd watched the Bentley pull up the drive on CNN.

Tony'd only be alone a few hours. He'd be fine.

"See you tomorrow," Happy said. He slid back into the Bentley and started the engine.


End file.
